


Like a Really Good Fight

by subplotter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Knifeplay, M/M, murphamy is the main ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 21:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3091241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subplotter/pseuds/subplotter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murphy finds an outlet. Bellamy volunteers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I didn't proof this. Contains dark themes.

Oh, Murphy tried so hard to be good. Correction: he tried so hard to appear good. That was what it was going to take to survive in this place, he'd learned that real fucking quick, and so he was good. And he didn't kill anybody else. And he went along on all of Bellamy's stupid fucking trips, and wished Bellamy still felt like a leader. A real leader. Somebody Murphy could look up to. But no, he was just the one that everybody else thought was so great. Bellamy and Clarke. Prince and princess. Murphy had to be good for them or he'd get himself cast out again.

Or killed. Now that the adults were here. Murphy was certain that their sick fondness for floating everyone wouldn't diminish on the ground.

But the thing was: he still wanted to do it. He still wanted to murder people, get in fights, be violent. And Murphy had never been the kind of person to deny himself what he wanted. So he found a way to do it anyway, a way that might not get him in trouble, as long as he kept it secret. He found someone who'd let him hurt them consensually.

She was cute. Murphy picked her because she had a bit of a fuller body--one that would be able to bear his knife. Because what else would he use to hurt someone? It felt so good in his hand. It felt heavy, and powerful. He practiced on himself, but it didn't give him the thrill he wanted. He wanted the kind of thrill he'd had pulling Bellamy up by that belt, watching him fight to breathe like Murphy had. He wanted to erase the feeling he'd gotten pulling him up the second time, the feeling he'd gotten saving his life (even if it had been a crucial step toward acceptance, he figured).

The girl gave it to him, almost. Nothing was like a kill. But the thrill he felt digging the blade into her skin, hearing her breath quicken, digging his fingers into her scalp while he held her hair more tightly was close. It was like a really good fight. He still had to be good, of course. He'd injured himself real good with the knife on purpose, gotten some medical supplies to use on her. And he made sure he didn't cut too deep or injure her in a way that other people might notice.

Sometimes she tried to kiss him. But Murphy would just turn his head and scowl. (Though on the rare occasion, after they were finished, he'd let her stay in his tent.)

The others seemed surprised he had a girlfriend. He didn't correct them. Let them think he was human somewhere under his skin. Let them think he could make someone happy. Let them think he was safe enough to be alone with like she was alone with him, giving him her body, and her heart. Sometimes he dreamt of pulling plastic over her head, of watching her pretty mouth go wide and hollow, but they were only dreams. He was well-behaved. It was perfect.

But of course Bellamy almost ruined everything. He had a knack for that, with Murphy. Always betraying him, always being proactive in the wrong ways. It was a shock in the first place that he'd come to Murphy's tent. Murphy didn't get a chance to learn why, though. He was too busy fighting a fist in his shirt, dragging him away from the pretty, bloody stomach beneath him.

Bellamy shoved him down into the ground. "What the hell are you doing?"

And all Murphy could do was fight it uselessly, bark out, "She likes it, she likes it!"

Bellamy shot his gaze to the girl. And when she nodded, he let up, though he told her to leave. She ran out with her clothes pressed to her stomach, more scared than Murphy had ever seen her.

Bellamy had Murphy's knife. He'd snatched it from Murphy's grip and now he was looking down at it, down at the blood. He moved to his feet, and Murphy did the same.

"Can I have it back now?" he said.

Bellamy's eyes were wide and dark. Murphy could feel him judging him, feeling sick about it, probably.

"Look," he said, glare meeting Murphy's. "You can't do that. Even if she likes it. If the Chancellor or any of the guards caught you doing that, they wouldn't get it."

"Oh, and you do?"

"No," he said emphatically. "But I've seen much crazier shit down here. Just cut it out."

Murphy curled his lip up. Bellamy ruined everything! And Murphy couldn't do anything right. Every time he tried, one of the golden goddamn chosen ones took it away from him, punished him. He made fists. Anger and stress pushed his brows together.

"Give it back."

Bellamy held the knife out of reach. "I don't think I will. You never could be trusted with a weapon, Murphy."

Murphy growled. "You don't understand."

"What do I not understand?"

Murphy stared at him. He'd have to tell him. He'd have to be honest or he'd never get to have that thrill again like this, in a safe way, without getting floated. "It's how I don't kill."

Bellamy's expression seemed to fall just a fraction. And then he looked almost...sad, and Murphy wanted to throw up. Was he pitying him now? He would have preferred to tell Raven. She'd been mean to him when he'd been honest, and it had felt good.

"You can't do that with her."

Murphy laughed bitterly. "Why not. She likes me. She likes it. She's my-- She's mine."

"She's just a kid."

Jesus Christ. As if they weren't all kids. "I need it. I'm trying here. What else can I fucking do, Bellamy? Lick your boots?"

"Oh come on."

"'Oh come on,'" Murphy mocked him. "That's how it is. I suck up to you and Clarke and everyone, and you treat me like shit. Well I'm trying. It's not my fault this is what I like. Now give me my knife back. It's mine."

Bellamy looked down at the knife again. He clenched his teeth because Murphy could see it, that little ripple at his jaw. God, he was fucking perfect. Always had a girl in his tent. Always a different girl. He had a darkness to him, and girls liked that, Murphy knew. A dark knight. Murphy was all dark; he wasn't a knight at all.

"Give it to me," he repeated.

"Just a second." He met Murphy's eyes again. "I can't let you do that to her anymore. If you need to... if you need to do that, you can do it to me."

This time when Murphy laughed, it wasn't as bitter. It was a bit more high-pitched, an expression of shock. Oh how noble. And how fucked up. Murphy wondered if Bellamy still thought about nearly dying at Murphy's hands or if it was insignicant to him, just another setback to be swept under the rug. Just another noble deed, another time for him to do the heroic thing in front of everyone.

Murphy smirked, gaze hopeless as he looked toward the ground. "You wouldn't like it."

"So? Do people enjoy being murdered?"

Murphy cut his eyes back up. He stared into Bellamy's for a second. And then he let his eyes sweep down his frame, and he hoped it was covert. "You haven't got any fat on you."

"Dammit, Murphy, just agree to it. I can take injuries better than that little girl."

And he probably wouldn't try to kiss him. Murphy exhaled through his nostrils, rolling his eyes. "Fine. Now give me my knife."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally didn't proof this at all because it's past 3am. TBP = To Be Proofed.

Murphy avoided taking Bellamy up on his offer. Because what was he supposed to do, anyway? Go up to him when he was making important decisions and shit? Tell him he needed him? No. Fuck no. Bellamy just wanted to control him, that was all, and Murphy would be fine. Or he would have been fine. He would have been fine if she hadn't kept coming after him, longing for him like some wounded little dove.

It was fucking disgusting. And the worst part? Murphy actually did kind of want to kiss her when she said things like she was saying. Hurt me. Cut me. Make me bleed, please.

He'd let her get to know him too well. She was manipulating him. And all too often when Murphy talked to her--which was usually in public, because she was an idiot--Bellamy wasn't too far away, waiting to shove Murphy to the ground again and villainize him in front of everyone.

Without the outlet--without her skin beneath his blade--things got much harder to deal with. Murphy had trouble keeping things under the surface like he tried to do these days. Each time someone snapped at him--especially Clarke--Murphy thought about pummeling them, just shoving them into the fucking dirt until they begged to be let up. He didn't think about Bellamy. He shoved all thoughts of Bellamy down deep, and he didn't talk to him if he could help it. He was polite. He tried not to be noticed. But fuck if Bellamy didn't look at him all the time now, with that almost sad look in his eyes. Maybe it was concern. Concern was foreign to Murphy, and even if he'd known all about that feeling, he would have ignored it. He couldn't afford to look at Bellamy like that. It had bitten him in the ass more times than not.

But of course, just like always, Murphy fucked up. She came up to him when he had a drink in his hand. And she shoved it down, throwing a little tantrum, her voice carrying much too fucking far. Murphy looked at her with fire in his eyes, and he could have killed her right there. His girl. His adorable little scratching post with her soft little belly and pretty blonde hair. He could have killed her just like he'd killed Myles.

Bellamy got there before he could do anything. He settled a harsh hand over Murphy's bicep, squeezing too hard. "Come on."

Murphy stared her down until she cowered.

"Come on," said Bellamy again, tone firmer. And it made Murphy ill that Bellamy got to use him yet again to look good in front of everyone. Look at me. Look how good I am at keeping order.

Murphy went with him. He didn't have much choice, unless he wanted a giant arm bruise. They ended up in Murphy's tent, and Bellamy came inside with him, immediately took his shirt off.

"What are you doing." Murphy took a step back instinctively, eyes dipping down and then up again, unsettled. His knife was like a weight in his pocket, seeming to warm against his thigh as soon as Bellamy's skin was bare.

"What do you think? You're going to cut me. You've been acting like your old self lately, and nobody likes it."

Fucking asshole. Murphy only glared as Bellamy took a look around the tent, eventually lowering himself on top of Murphy's blankets. He lay on his back, arms bent behind his head.

"Come on," he said. "Where's your knife?"

Murphy scowled. He reached into his pocket for it. "I don't want to do this with you."

"Really?" He said it condescendingly, smiling a little. It was annoying how confident he looked. Murphy wanted him to flash back to it. He wanted him to remember dangling from the ceiling. He wanted to have affected him.

But Bellamy seemed all too relaxed. Even as Murphy finally lowered himself to the ground too, straddling Bellamy's hips.

It was different with him. Murphy was nervous. He swallowed hard, throat rolling, gripping the knife too hard. The smile slowly slid from Bellamy's features. They made eye contact. Murphy thought in that moment that perhaps he was remembering their time in the drop ship.

"Come on," said Bellamy softly. "You can't be scaring people like that."

"Scaring people," echoed Murphy, smirking. Bellamy was such an idiot. No one in their right mind would trust Murphy to do this. And yet it felt good to have him here, under his legs, giving up his body as Murphy's girl had. It made him feel like Bellamy would still choose him to be part of the group.

Delusions, probably. But the real prize would be his reactions to the pain. Murphy swept a hand down Bellamy's skin, turning the tips of his fingers and clawing on the way back up. He'd learned how to get the most reactions by practicing on his girl. You had to have a bit of a build up.

When Murphy finally drew the knife over Bellamy's skin, he didn't cut him yet. And he felt Bellamy tense in anticipation of nothing. He laughed. The sound was very soft and gritty.

"Are you going to cut me or not?"

"Shut the fuck up, Bellamy. When somebody's got you at knifepoint, you've got to cooperate."

Murphy felt and heard Bellamy take a deep breath. He didn't look at his face. He was completely focused on his torso, how smooth and uninjured it was at the moment. The next time he drew the blade across his skin, he made a shallow cut.

Bellamy hissed. And Murphy felt a bit different than he had cutting his girl. He felt more... He felt--

"I don't know about this."

"Murphy, shut up. What do you think's going to happen?"

Murphy cut his eyes up. He was still smirking. But the truth was, he was afraid of freaking Bellamy out. Of reacting the wrong way with his high and getting called names or something like that. Of hurting him too badly and breaking this imaginary trust he was eating right up.

His smirk disappeared. Tension slid down his spine.

"Murphy." Bellamy propped himself up on his elbows. "It's okay."

And there was that look again. That look of pity. It sent a rush of anger back into Murphy's body, and he shoved Bellamy down, a palm at his sternum, drawing the blade across his abs for a deeper cut.

Bellamy made a sound not unlike a moan. Murphy felt sweat break at the back of his neck. Bellamy. Bellamy, his leader. Bellamy, his beautiful revenge, offering himself up for Murphy's demands, trading places with that piece of shit goggles kid for Murphy's pleasure, because Murphy had the power this time. Oh, he wanted to hang him again. He wanted him on his knees. He wanted him to tell him how sorry he was for making him feel so useless and unwanted, and for not defending him hard enough when everyone was so willing to turn their backs on him.

Murphy growled. And he slid his fingers into Bellamy's hair like he'd done with his girl, forcing his head to the side as he made another cut, deeper still. There were three pretty lines on Bellamy's stomach now, each redder than one before it, and Murphy's lashes fluttered as he imagined licking them clean. He had done that with his girl.

"It's not the same with you," he gritted out, tightening his grip on Bellamy's hair. "You don't get it. You don't get it."

"What's wrong." Bellamy seemed to barely get the words out, wincing. He looked so uncomfortable. Murphy didn't know when he'd stopped wanting an unwilling victim.

"I want my girl back."

Bellamy's black eyes slid to focus on Murphy, even with his head forced to the side as it was. Murphy pulled his hand away. He felt weak, suddenly, and emotion was clotting in his stomach, and everything was terrible. That look of pity was even stronger in Bellamy's face now, and Murphy focused his eyes away, swallowing bile.

Bellamy's fingers closed over Murphy's wrist. "Hey."

Murphy looked back at him.

"Do you really like her?" said Bellamy.

Murphy yanked his wrist away. " _No._ "

Bellamy's gaze hardened a little. "Then what's the problem? I'm trying to help you."

"Help me? Like you give a shit."

"Um--of course I do. Do you really think I would do this for somebody who nearly killed me if I didn't give a shit?"

Murphy narrowed his eyes. "Don't bring that up."

"Then stop talking to me. And fucking hurt me."

The words sent something hot into Murphy's stomach. But he still hesitated. "You still don't get it."

"Oh my _God_ , what the fuck do I not get? Explain it to me, Murphy. Please."

"It's sexual." The words fell out like too much boiling water, and Murphy waited for the backlash.

Bellamy only rolled his eyes. "I figured. Now get on with it."

Murphy laughed. He couldn't help it, the notion was so ridiculous. Bellamy submitting was fucking nuts on its own, but Bellamy submitting for something sexual? With Murphy? Murphy laughed genuinely, putting a hand over his face for a moment.

"What?" Bellamy tapped Murphy's knife arm lightly with the back of his hand. "Let's go."

And so Murphy relented. And he drew a new cut just under the last one, dipping down this time to draw his tongue over the blood as it beaded up.

Bellamy moved beneath him. He pressed his stomach up as Murphy licked him, and the high was like a tense fog over Murphy's head, cooling the sweat at his temples, at his throat.

One of Bellamy's hands slid up Murphy's back, and he growled, shoving the hand away. "Don't fucking touch me."

Bellamy laughed softly. "But you're sitting right on top of my dick."

Murphy glanced down. His gaze was cool, his nostrils flared a little. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to rip his stomach open with the blade, sink the metal deep. He ground his hips down.

Bellamy muttered, "Fuck."

"We're not having sex."

"Uh--yes, we are. Did you not fuck that girl?"

Murphy drew a vertical cut, slicing through all the others. Bellamy whined like it really hurt him.

"No," said Murphy.

"Well that's your problem." Bellamy's eyes were glowing as they focused up onto Murphy. "You haven't been getting laid."

How juvenile. Murphy rolled his eyes and made another vertical cut, Bellamy's pathetic sounds sending more heat into his belly. He didn't pay much attention to his body when he did this, usually. Sometimes he got hard. It didn't matter.

But Bellamy's hand was sliding up his back again, and it felt good. "I said not to touch me."

"Come on. If you really want me to just lie here, I will, but I don't think you want that."

Murphy's eyes were dead and cruel. His next cut was borderline too-deep, and a touch of genuine fear hit Bellamy's eyes then. He dipped down again to lick at the cuts, the taste and scent of it twisting in his head like hot metal.

Bellamy's hand slid under Murphy's shirt, warm against his skin, and Murphy let himself go for a moment, grinding down once more against him. Bellamy moaned.

"Let me fuck you," he said. "When you're done, let me."

The words made Murphy vaguely ill. He'd never been fucked before. He'd never had sex. It wasn't something that necessarily appealed to him. But with Bellamy, he thought it could. Bellamy was important to him. Bellamy's favor was important. At the least, this would bring them closer, get Bellamy to like him more. Maybe he'd protect him. Take care of him. Trust him again.

Murphy made one last cut, drawing his thumb over the blood. "Alright. I'm done. Fuck me."

And then all his power slipped away. Bellamy pushed himself up and pushed Murphy back, strong hand sliding into Murphy's hand and taking his blade away, setting it aside.

"Bell--"

"Shh." Both of Bellamy's hands touched at Murphy's sides, flipping him over.

"I've never done this before."

Bellamy leaned down as he worked at Murphy's pants, pushing them down just enough. He swiped his tongue over Murphy's ear (which wasn't an entirely pleasant sensation).

"I have."

Of course. Murphy forced himself to relax. He thought it would hurt. Logically, it would hurt. But Bellamy was responsible. Noble. Or he was dangerous where it counted, right here, and oh, Murphy was just another girl in his tent.

There were slick sounds. Bellamy's fingers in his own lips before they moved down between Murphy's legs, cutting through him.

He whined.

"Shh," said Bellamy. "Don't tense up. Relax. I'm gonna make this feel good."

Murphy felt a bit distant. Things seemed to be happening too fast. And before he knew it, the burn of Bellamy's fingers was replaced with the slow burn of something else, the very slow burn. Bellamy held onto Murphy's hips as he slid in, controlled, smooth, and Murphy could see why the girls liked him.

"Okay?" he said, gripping soothingly at the back of Murphy's neck.

"Yeah."

Bellamy was still for a while. Murphy took deep breaths, adjusting to the feeling. And eventually Bellamy began to move his hips.

Murphy groaned down into the blankets. It didn't feel all that bad. And Bellamy's arm wrapped around his chest felt even better, like a safety net. Like something strong.

Murphy was weak for him. The violence seemed to all go away, and he could just lie there and feel, body rocking with Bellamy's, his voice moving with his too, moans and grunts and groans. As Bellamy got closer, he buried his face against Murphy's neck, his hand digging into the blankets underneath them and finding Murphy's length. The pleasure made his head quiet. And eventually they were both tensing and relaxing, and Murphy was muffling a loud moan against the ground.

Bellamy pulled out gently. He sat back on his heels and wiped his hand on his pants after he pulled them up over his waist.

Murphy felt so tired. But he forced himself over onto his back, lifting his hips as he pulled his pants up too.

"So do you feel better?"

Murphy looked blankly at Bellamy's pity-filled expression.

"I hate it when you look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you pity me."

Bellamy's brows furrowed in confusion. "I don't."

"Whatever." Murphy retrieved his knife and lay back on his back, examining the blood. "I have bandages if you want some."

"I'll be fine."

Murphy just caught a glance at the cuts as Bellamy pulled his shirt on. But he didn't want to meet the other's eyes. He felt too good. Sore, but good. And he didn't want Bellamy to know that.

"Do you want me to go?"

"Yeah probably."

He watched Bellamy get up out his peripheral. He felt sort of gross between his legs. And his emotions were blissfully blank, but he wasn't sure when they'd come welling up again, making him want to tear into people's skin.

"You gonna lick that blade clean when I'm gone?"

Murphy couldn't help but smile. "Fuck off, Bellamy."

And then Bellamy was lifting the fabric at the opening of the tent and slipping out of it.


End file.
